"It's the greatest danger to be feared," he said, "and we must
overtake them in the night when they are not suspecting. If we
attack by day they will tomahawk the captives the very first
thing."
"Shorely,', said the shiftless one.
"Then," said Henry, " we don't need to hurry. "We'll go on until
about midnight, and then sleep until sunrise."
They continued at a fair pace along a trail that frontiersmen far
less skillful than they could have followed. But a silent dread
was in the heart of every one of them. As they saw the path of
the small feet staggering more and more they feared to behold
some terrible object beside the path.
"The trail of the littlest child is gone," suddenly announced
Paul.
"Yes," said Henry, "but the mother has picked it up and is
carrying it. See how her trail has suddenly grown more uneven."
"Poor woman," said Paul. "Henry, we're just bound to overtake
that band."
"We'll do it," said Henry.
At the appointed time they sank down among the thickest bushes
that they could find, and slept until the first upshot of dawn.
Then they resumed the trail, haunted always by that fear of
finding something terrible beside it.
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